they did not appear, I sat down and breakfasted.
Before I had well finished I heard the noise of a horse approaching
rapidly, and presently Antonio made his appearance amongst the trees,
with some agitation in his countenance. He sprang from the horse, and
instantly proceeded to untie the mule. 'Mount, brother, mount!' said he,
pointing to the horse; 'I went with the Callee and her chabes to the
village where the ro is in trouble; the chino-baro, however, seized them
at once with their cattle, and would have laid hands also on me; but I
set spurs to the grasti, gave him the bridle, and was soon far away.
Mount, brother, mount, or we shall have the whole rustic _canaille_ upon
us in a twinkling--it is such a bad place.'"

I almost imagine Borrow would have said, under the circumstances, as he
was putting his foot into the stirrup to mount his horse to fly for his
life into the wild regions of an unknown country:--

"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly;
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life is past,
Safe into the haven guide,
Oh, receive my soul at last.

"Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee,
Leave, O leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort me.
All my trust on Thee is stayed,
All my help from Thee I bring,
Cover my defenceless head,
With the shadow of Thy wing."

Sir Walter Scott, in "Guy Mannering," speaking of the dark deeds of the
Gipsies, says:--"The idea of being dragged out of his miserable
concealment by wretches whose trade was that of midnight murder, without
weapons or the slightest means of defence, except entreaties which would
be only their sport, and cries for help which could never reach other ear
than their own--his safety intrusted to the precarious compassion of a
being associated with these felons, and whose trade of rapine and
imposture must have hardened her against every human feeling--the
bitterness of his emotions almost choked him. He endeavoured to read in
her withered and dark countenance, as the lamp threw its light upon her
features, something that promised those feelings of compassion which
females, even in their most degraded state, can seldom altogether
smother. There was no such touch of humanity about this woman."

"'Never fear,' said the old Gipsy man, 'Meg's true-bred; s